Page 126 of Bound By Stars

She laughs. “Heavens, no. We had to make sure you didn’t panic and wander off. It’s not uncommon to be disoriented after an ordeal like that. I just need to do a quick assessment. Are you up for that?”

I nod, resting back against the pillows and turning my face back to the window. The color of dust is all I can make out. Was there another storm? The trees must be coated. I have to get home to help Mom clean up. The garden will be a disaster.

The feet of a chair squeal against the floor, gnawing at my sensitive eardrum, as the doctor drags it to the end of the bed. She takes a seat, crosses her legs, and props a tablet on her knee. “Can you please tell me your full name?”

“Weslie Soleil Fleet.”

“How old are you, Weslie?”

“Seventeen.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Obviously. “The hospital.” But as soon as the words come out, I know I’m missing something.

She nods. “Do you know what year it is?”

“2212.”

“And do you recall what happened to you before you woke up here?”

“I was…” Home. No. TheBoundless. Weeks of memories flood my mind. Asha. Jupiter. Reve. The explosion. ILSA. I turn to the window again, sitting up. “Am I on Mars?”

“Very good, Weslie.” She taps on the screen. “It sounds like your memory is intact.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Your head injury was very troubling, so we kept you under for ten sols to let it heal.” She pauses, noticing my confused expression. “Right. You’re from Earth. Solar days. 24.6 hours.”

I lie back and stare at the ceiling. I actually made it to Mars—alive.

“Other than that, your wounds were superficial. You were very lucky. Without that bot, you wouldn’t have made it.”

ILSA. She saved me. I remember being cold and contained. She must have transported me to the station. Kept me alive. “Where is ILSA?”

The doctor furrows her brow.

“My bot?”

“Oh, yes. Docked in personal bot storage. I’ll have her brought in before you’re discharged.”

I sit up straighter. “Can I see her now?”

“Of course.” The doctor pulls out her comm, propping it between her ear and shoulder. She stands and leans over the bedside. Gripping a plastic fob dangling from the lanyard around her neck, she rubs it over one cuff, and it unlatches. “Marcy, will you bring the bot being stored for 3-0-6 up to the room? Great. Thank you.”

When the second cuff falls to the mattress, I massage my wrists. There are light impressions, but the angry red and bluish bruises from the captain’s office are gone.

Thud, thud. The doctor crosses the room, swinging the door wide, holding it open.

ILSA rolls through the doorway, pivots, and parks next to my bedside. Two white dots appear on her face screen. “Weslie, my scans indicate that your various contusions have predominantly healed.”

“It’s good to see you, too, ILSA.” I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and wrap my arms around her wide base.

“Your physical reaction indicates distress. Are you distressed?”

“I’m just happy to see you, ILSA.” I release her and inspect her damaged exterior. There are new dents and scratches. From the explosion or transporting me to the space station or both. My eyes burn and my throat tightens as I look up at her face screen. “You saved me.”

“That is my intended function.” She lays her cupped hand on my shoulder. “And I was built by an excellent engineer.”

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